


Aftermath

by erikaehm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikaehm/pseuds/erikaehm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prepared for a fight he drops. He lands in a puddle and can’t feel a twinge of regret when he ruins Chris’ jeans, splashing them with mud and bits of loose grass. He stays in a crouch for a minute, mind whirling as it tries to catch up with what’s going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spin off of the lovely StealthLiberal's "Sins of the Father" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/665271) which I suggest everyone goes to read. This is Scott's take on the Argent Family Clusterfuck of Feels. 
> 
> Please read the warnings: there is mentions of child abuse - sexual - in this piece of fanfiction.

_Aftermath_

 

Scott is soaked. The chill from the rain has settled bone deep and his hair – which has grown the past few months, curly and black and thick – is plastered to his face, clinging at his forehead. Water drips steadily into his eyes, half blinding him, but he’s as unwilling as he is unable to get up and move. The fabric of his wind breaker is sticking to him uncomfortably and his shoes make a squelching noise when he shifts his footing on the roof.

 

His finally drops out of his squat to sit flat on his arse, legs bent at the knees. He rests his elbows on them and clasps his hands together loosely, twiddling his thumbs as he waits. Below him, he can hear the steady _thump thump_ of Allison’s heartbeat.

 

He knows he’s gone well past the Derek level of creepy stalking and has entered far into Edward Cullen territory. Even the discomfort he feels at that isn’t enough to move him, though.

 

They might not be dating – Hell, they’re hardly even talking – but there will _always_ be a part of Scott that will love Allison. She’d been his first love, his first girlfriend, his only anchor in the world when everything had seemed so futile. She’d stood at his side when she’d found out what he was, maybe not with pride, but definitely with loyalty. And he could stand by and keep her safe while she slept, if that’s what he felt needed to be done.

 

And he _did_ feel it needed to be done. She’d looked like Hell the last few times he’d caught sight of her at the mall, eyes ringed with heavy circles and entire body reeking of quiet desperation and _ache_. This was maybe more a comfort to him than her, but that was fine too.

 

She just hadn’t been the same since news of Gerard’s death had swept through town like wildfire.

 

Whoever had done it – and he had a few ideas, although he’d voice none of them out loud to anyone aside from Stiles – had done it well, had covered their tracks. It had taken weeks to identify the burnt out remains in a discreet rental. The news was _still_ focused on the fact that there’d been no head. And if he had maybe smelled blood on Peter and Derek, had maybe been able to place the smell as _familiar_ , well, that was just another secret Scott would keep to himself. Some things were better left unsaid.

 

Engrossed as he is in his own thoughts, he isn’t aware of Chris coming home until the man calls out to him. He leans forward enough to peer over the edge of the roof, letting a bit of his wolf seep into his eyes. Chris only watches him, calm, arms held loosely at his side.

 

“Scott.” Argent hollers up, voice light. “Get down here.”

 

Prepared for a fight he drops. He lands in a puddle and can’t feel a twinge of regret when he ruins Chris’ jeans, splashing them with mud and bits of loose grass. He stays in a crouch for a minute, mind whirling as it tries to catch up with what’s going on.

 

To be honest, Scott hasn’t been the same since Gerard’s death either.

 

“Chris.” He says, voice gravelly. He rises finally and meets the man’s gaze head on, eyes once more a dull, flat brown. He’s not afraid of Argent, hasn’t been for a while, but it’s still best to be on your toes when around a hunter.

 

Peter and Derek might call Chris pack but Scott still adamantly – and he will until his very last drawn breath, with everything that he has – denies Derek as his alpha.

 

“You’re soaked.” Chris replies, amicable. “Come on in for a few minutes. Dry off.”

 

It’s not what Scott was expecting and he knows his surprise shows on his face. Still; he follows Chris inside and toes off his shoes. It doesn’t make much of a different. As he trails behind Chris into the kitchen his socks make prints all over the floor anyway.

 

Neither man comments on it.

 

“Beer?”

 

Scott feels a twinge low in his gut at the familiarity of that questions and allows a half smile to grace his face .”I’m underage.”

 

Chris looks neither amused nor concerned. “I think we realized a while ago that legalities don’t mean anything to either of us.”

 

Scott frowns. “I can’t even get drunk.” His voice is wary as he wonders what game Chris is playing at.

 

Chris only shrugs. “Having a drink isn’t always about getting drunk. Sometimes it’s just about company and conversation.” He pops the top off his own bottle, holding a second loosely in his other hand. “Do you want a beer?”

 

Figuring he has nothing else to lose, Scott holds out a hand. The glass is cold against his palm, wet, and he fumbles with the top twice like the inexperienced teenager he is. They settle beside each other against the counter, staring out the bay window overlooking the back yard.

 

The silence isn’t companionable but it’s comfortable and as the first taste of carbonated booze hits his tongue, Scott feels some of the tension seep from his shoulders. Above him, Allison’s heart is a steady, soothing drum that he focuses on with a mindlessness bred from familiarity.

 

Eventually he has to speak. So he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Is she okay?”

 

Chris replies with a quiet noise of discontent. “No.” He says, honestly, and peers at Scott from the corner of his eye. “But you know that.” After a moment he adds, “You also know that she will be. She’s lost a lot, Scott, and she’s not going to bounce right back. You’re helping though.”

 

Scott scoffs, tilts his head back to stare at the swirls on the ceiling. “I’m not doing anything.” And if he sounds bitter, that’s okay. It’s understandable. “We hardly even talk.”

 

“But if she needs you, you’ll be there. You and the rest of the kids. You might not realize it, and Lydia might be upset right now, but having you all there to listen if she needs it does wonders. You’re a true friend Scott.” Chris gentles his voice to take the hurt out of the word _friend_. “That’s what she needs right now. And it might not mean much coming from me, especially not after all we’ve been through but I need you to know that I’m thankful, and proud. You and I have had our rough spots, and God knows I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in this last year, but I hope we can get past that eventually. All of us.” He turns his gaze forward again, watches the rain fall outside. “I trust you.”

 

Scott doesn’t hear a blip in Chris’ heart. He does, however, hear one in Allison’s seconds before she cries out in her sleep. By reflex he rocks forwards fully prepared to head up the stairs.

 

A hand settles on his arm, keeping him still with a soft touch. “You’ve done your part Scott. This is my job now. Finish your beer and go home. You look like Hell.”

 

He slumps again yet doesn’t argue. Instead he listens to the steady beat of Chris climbing up the stairs, the soft murmur of words meant to stay between a father and a daughter. He thinks of his own mom, then, the worry in her eyes from that morning and with a heavy heart Scott pours his drink down the drain. He tugs his wet shoes on, slips out the door and onto his bike.

 

When he gets home he wraps his mom in a wet hug, forehead nestled between her shoulder blades. Neither of them say anything but Scott knows his message gets across.

 

 _I’m not okay right now, but I will be_.

 

I

 

The thing about werewolves is that aside from their monthly “furry problem” – as Stiles calls it – they are, essentially, human beings. What that means is that they, like ‘normal’ humans, enjoy talking their problems out amongst themselves. They also get distracted.

 

The thing about young werewolves, too, is that aside from being human, and being wolves, is that they are _young_. They enjoy gossip as much as the next cheerleader squad. So it’s not much of a surprise when Isaac overhears something from Derek, who was talking to Peter. It’s not a surprise when he relays the information to Boyd. Or when he’s overhead by Danny, who takes it upon himself to tell Stiles. Who, being the good friend he is, takes it upon himself to tell _Scott_.

 

Which is overheard by Isaac – the source of their gossip – who instinctually, seeing the way Scott’s eyes burn like molten copper, goes back to Derek to admit his mistake and beg for forgiveness.

 

And Derek being the trusting alpha that he is, hunts Scott down as soon as he can. Which is after Lacrosse practice – Scott’s not doing good at Lacrosse, too distracted. For the first time since the bite, he’s mostly been benched. The alpha watches him with a cautious gaze, then jerks his chin towards the Camaro. “Get in.”

 

“Why?” Scott’s voice sounds floaty even to his own ears and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that the world is moving slowly around him. His entire body is buzzing. There’s a feeling nagging at the back of his mind, like he should be running that he has to do _something_ , and he stamps down the howl that bubbles in his throat with silent accuracy.

 

“You need time.” Derek tucks his hands into his pockets and gestures to the car once more. “To think. Process.” He doesn’t say that Scott should talk to him. To be fair, he has no idea how to even handle this situation.

 

He came expecting a fight.

 

Not haunted, tired eyes that watch him so absently it makes his skin crawl. This isn’t the Scott he knows. He’s used to action and anger, and shouting, and claws flying at his face.

 

Scott’s entire body seems to loosen all at once. The world is still slowly turning around him and he has the distinct feeling of vertigo – coupled with the telltale signs of an asthma attack, and he thinks that maybe it’s not asthma but panic instead – as he tilts his head towards the tree line. “Derek?”

 

The alpha rocks forward steadily, claws slipping out from under his human nails. They bite into the soft fabric of his pockets, ripping strands as they go. “We don’t know what, if anything, happened to Allison.” He reminds, keeping his voice quiet. There are other players wandering out from the school, tossing the two wolves curious glances as they pass by. No one says anything; it’s obvious that they’re trying to listen in, though.

 

“She was so afraid of him.” Scott replies, just as quiet. He’s still not looking at the older wolf.

 

Derek shakes his head. “We all were.” It’s the truth, simple as it is. They’d all feared the wrath of Gerard Argent and the pain that he brought wherever he went. “Chris, he.” He pauses to lick his lips, uncomfortable with the way things are turning. Fighting is so much easier than talking. “He told me a lot. About Kate.” And that catches Scott’s attention, turns his gaze back towards Derek. “About what Gerard did to her. There was...proof. Of what he’d done.”

 

Just like that, it’s as if the floodgates have opened. Derek numbly recounts everything he’s learned from Chris; how much Kate had loved him, how she hadn’t wanted to kill him. How murdering his family had been the straw to break the camel’s back. How the fire that killed them had burned out the final shreds of humanity that Kate had inside of her.

 

Scott listens, attentively. His eyes are glassed over with moisture and, voice thick with emotion, he finally asks Derek, “What did you do?” He sounds lost, and desperate, and pleading. Everything that Derek’s felt for a very long time.

 

The alpha closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. “I ran.”

 

“Did it help?” Yet Scott’s already inching away from the car and closer to the woods, where the grass is wet and the trees are still. There’s an itch under his skin now, one that he wants desperately to scratch.

 

“A little.”

 

That’s all Scott needs. He manages to walk to the tree line but as soon as he’s in the cover of thick foliage, he’s gone. His world turns red as the wolf takes over and his everything narrows down to nothing expect raw instinct. As the wolf, there’s no real emotion attached to anything. Just the pulse of woodland critter hearts and his own blood pounding in his veins as he loses his shoes and drops to all fours, tearing off as fast as is physically possible.

 

The wolf is aware of another following them. They catch sight of him – Derek, the alpha – and deem him to be a non-threat.

 

They run for hours side by side, and their howls echo loudly through the trees. They aren’t returned by the rest of the pack because they aren’t howls of _need_ , they’re howls of _loss_. For at least this moment the woods are theirs and theirs alone.

 

When Scott finally comes to, he’s covered in blood. There’s a second of panic before he sees the mutilated carcass of a buck, stomach and throat slashed to Hell. Derek’s sitting across from him, own face a bit worse for wear, but he looks content.

 

Scott understands that the feeling is mutual; the expression probably being mirrored on his own face.

 

And Derek was right. It helps a little. The ache is still there, the bloodlust pulling at the back of his mind, but it’s manageable. He feels like him again, the tightness in his chest giving way to a deep boned ache that makes him feel alive.

 

“I should go.” He says, pushing himself up unsteadily. Derek says nothing, merely waves him off.

 

So Scott returns home to his shower and washes the evidence of his kill from his body before slipping onto his bike and riding out into the night.

 

I

 

“Your mom let me in.” She says quietly. She doesn’t look good. Her hair is twisted into a messy bun and her shirt is wrinkled up. Her pants have mud stains on the knees, and Scott wonders if she’s been out jogging again. He wonders if she still carries her taser with her.

 

He nods, but doesn’t tell her that he knows. He’d heard them talking downstairs, of course.

 

He’d known she was coming since the moment she turned onto his street in her little car. “Okay.” He says instead. He’s perched on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, and he lets his ears fill with the sound of her heart again.

 

 _It’s funny,_ he thinks, _how you always end up at the same place you started_.

 

She hesitates in the doorway. “Is it alright if I come in?” And it feels so foreign to hear her asking his permission, like they’re strangers or they’ve just meant. They’ve spent countless hours in his room together, sitting and talking. Studying. Sharing slow kisses while stifling their giggles so his mother doesn’t wake up.

 

It leaves a bitter flavor on his tongue even as he pats the spot beside him, a sign for her to come in.

 

She does, closing the door behind her as she treads carefully around the dirty clothes that are tossed all over his room. They sit thigh to thigh in silence until she takes a shuddering breath, head tilting towards the ceiling. “They won’t stop looking at me.” She admits, voice wet and tight. Her throat clicks when she swallows and the scent of tears hits him like a fist to the gut. “The kids at school, you know? I know that...I know I haven’t really been here lately. Or been there. I’ve just been trying to make sense of it all, you know? But I can still hear them whispering about me.”

 

Scott gingerly lays his hand over the back of hers, staring pointedly at their laps. “I know.” He sighs through his nose. “I...hear them too.”

 

“You don’t talk, though. You and Stiles.” Her thumb curls upwards, knocking against his hand in a way that’s so familiar it _aches_.

 

Scott swallows past the lump in his own throat. “No. I...want to, sometimes. I thought about talking to Miss Morrell, maybe. Or Mister Stilinski, since, well.” He shrugs. “You know.”

 

“You didn’t talk to anybody?”

 

“Just Derek.” Scott’s lips quirk.

 

Allison bites back her curiosity at that. “Scott?”

 

“Mm?” Finally he glances up at her, meets her eyes. She looks as lost as he feels, lashes clumped, eyes swollen red.

 

“I can talk to you, right?” She waits for his nod before continuing. “I know a lot of what I did was wrong. I hurt you, and Isaac, and I’m sorry. I’ve already told you that, though. Every day that passed I could see myself changing, and it didn’t really matter what I tried to do to stop it. It was like everything in the world was pointing me towards one goal, towards being a true Argent. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and seeing how much I look like Aunt Kate. But it wasn’t just my hair, or my nose. It was my expression. I was so numb and so lost, that I couldn’t _feel_ it but I could see how angry I was. How hurt I was. Every morning I’d get up to get ready for school and I’d look at myself and think _I hate you_.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I’d lost Kate and my mom, and my dad was so grief stricken...he was trying to be there for me. He really was. He was just doing it the Argent way, by training me.”

 

Scott rests his forehead against her temple, a silent anchor in unsure seas.

 

“My dad couldn’t make up his mind. One minute he was pushing me forwards, then the next he was dragging me back. You and I were fighting, and Matt.” She huffs, lightly. “I’m not trying to use you as an excuse, or make excuses. It’s not...it’s not your fault, or mine. But Gerard, as horrible as he was, he was the only constant. He’d swept into my home when we were at our lowest and he seemed so strong, despite being so _frail_. He honestly seemed, at times, like he was trying to hold us all together. When I found out it had been Derek that bit my mom, that that’s why she killed herself, he gave me an out. He gave me a chance to be brave, and strong, and everything that I hadn’t been up until that point. He gave me my life back.” Here she pauses to laugh, bitter. “Or that’s what I thought. In the end I was just another toy. I...He didn’t. I know what they’re saying at school, that he _touched_ me but, he didn’t. Not like that, not physically.”

 

The relief in the air is so heavy, one could almost taste it. Scott remains silent, but the way he presses his lips to Allison’s cheek is proof enough that he’s grateful for her honestly, that she’s taken the time to come and air this in front of him.

 

“I’m not the same person I was back then, or even before then.” She draws away from him, chest heaving with held-back sobs. “Scott, I’m not _her_. But I’m not _me_ either. I’m not that Allison from before; I can’t ever be her again.”

 

Scott wipes a few tears from her cheeks quietly, nudging their foreheads together. “You don’t have to be.”

 

When Melissa comes up hours later, it’s to the credits of a late night horror film playing and two exhausted teenagers curled together on her son’s bed. She watches them for a long moment, heart heavy, before fetching an extra blanket from the linen closet. She takes care to drape it across them as quietly as she can, fully aware that Scott’s roused since she’s entered his room. She presses soft kisses to each of their heads then slinks downstairs to call Chris and tell him his daughter won’t be coming home for the evening, but that she’ll make sure she gets to school on time.

 

Chris doesn’t argue or ask. He says his niceties then hangs up and retires to bed alone, knowing that the kids may not be alright right now but they’re getting there. They’re just trying to work through the aftermath.


End file.
